Where She's Gone, There's No Coming Back
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Elizabeth Moore's team lost the most important match of her life. How will the newly-unemployed GM of Raw handle Dean Ambrose? And what does he have planned for her? M: Language, sex, violence
1. Chapter 1

It was like I was in a bad dream.

I covered my head with my hands, my elbows resting on the ring apron. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

Over the music of the Shield, I could hear Ambrose laughing.

"Fuck me," I muttered, still unable to believe that this wasn't a nightmare of some kind.

"Get in here, Lizzy," Ambrose yelled from a few feet away.

I raised my head up to see Punk sitting on the ropes for me, grinning, while Ambrose knelt in the middle of the ring, hands on his thighs.

Slowly, feeling like I was moving underwater, I made my way up the steps and into the ring. I walked over to where Ambrose was, stopping a few feet in front of him.

Smiling widely at me, he pulled himself up and rose to his full height – 6'4", my brain helpfully reminded me – and stood simply watching me for a few minutes.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" He asked, reaching out for me.

"Go fuck yourself," I replied, suddenly becoming enraged as I backed away from him.

His expression became very disapproving. "Don't be a bad sport, Lizzy," he said. "We won it, fair and square. You can't deny that." He paused, studying my face. I looked away, trying very hard to hold back tears of anger and plain old fear. "Now come here and offer your congratulations like an adult."

Clenching my jaw, I stepped forward and offered my hand. "Well done," I spat.

He took my hand and pulled me close to him, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around me. I wanted to pull back, but knew that I couldn't – his arms were holding me firmly against his sweat-soaked body. I wanted to vomit.

His mouth wandered down my neck and back up to my ear, his wet hair brushing against my face. "You better start listening to me," he said quietly directly into my ear, "and you'd better start behaving yourself. Your month begins now. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

He grabbed my chin, pulled my face around to his, and laid the most unforgettably terrible kiss I'd ever had on my lips.

It was going to be the longest, most difficult month of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

I was numb as I packed everything in my mobile office that night. It would be the last time I ever had to do this.

The thought still hadn't completely registered. I had expected to be packing up in triumph, getting ready to go and get some sleep before hitting the road to reach my next show. I'd still be hitting the road, but all of the worries a GM should have – the scheduling, the refs, the talent – wouldn't be on my shoulders.

Instead, I'd very likely have a few broken bones to worry about. Perhaps a few bruises. Hopefully in places that couldn't be seen well, because I knew Ambrose and Heyman would want to parade me out in front of the crowd and wave me like some kind of flag for their victory.

"Are you done yet?" Ambrose asked. I turned to see him dressed in street clothes. Thankfully, he appeared to have showered.

I zipped my bag and walked towards him. "All set," I replied. I almost sounded human. Amazing.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and walked me out of the building and into his car. We rode back to the hotel in silence.

"We'll stay in your room," he told me as we got on the elevator. I leaned forward and punched the button for my floor. "We can have a little more privacy that way. I usually room with Seth and Roman."

I didn't know why he was telling me this. I nodded as if I was interested.

We disembarked on my floor and made our way to my room, Ambrose's hand gently placed in the middle of my back. I unlocked the door with shaking hands and turned the light on, stepping inside. I felt a small chill of fear when Ambrose took the 'Do Not Disturb' sign and hung it from the door.

He ushered me over to one of the beds and had me sit down on the edge of it. He took the other bed and did the same, merely studying me for several minutes.

"You actually expected to win tonight, didn't you?" He finally asked.

I glanced up at him. "Of course I did. I never would have taken the match if I didn't."

"I knew that it wouldn't work out for you," he said after a few moments. "Your guys weren't a team. They weren't fighting for anything they really wanted. We really wanted Paul to be the GM. The fact that I had a little extra motivation didn't hurt."

"Thank you for the insight," I tried so hard not to snap. "Should I ever be in that situation again, I will surely do things differently."

He was quiet for a few minutes, staring at me again. I wanted to ask what the fuck was so interesting, but elected to hold my tongue for the night.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know," he finally said unexpectedly.

It was my turn to watch him for a few moments. He seemed genuine, leaning back on his elbows very casually and returning my gaze evenly.

"I thought that was the whole point of this," I replied.

He nodded. "It was at first. But there's something about you that I very much like, Elizabeth. Something in you that really speaks to me. I think you and I could be something special."

"You are out of your fucking mind."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But I want to find out, which is very beneficial for you. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to force you to do anything sexually. I will be kissing you, but for anything beyond that – if you tell me to stop, I will." He paused, and I studied him intently to try and figure out if he was being serious.

"You did what you had to do," he continued. "I can respect that. I'm still mad as hell about it, but it took balls for you to step up and hire out your dirty work. Sounds like a contradiction, I know, but it was the smart way to deal with us."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said coldly.

He tilted his head at me. "Tell the truth now, Lizzy. Your job's not in jeopardy anymore. You don't have one."

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. I visibly winced, feeling the breath leave my lungs for a moment.

"Reality just hit you? Good. You need to wake up and realize that this is actually happening."

I swallowed hard, bringing my hand up to rub my forehead. I still felt completely numb. I didn't trust Ambrose for a minute, and the idea of having to be on my guard for the next month while I watched Heyman run my show made me sick.

It made me physically sick.

Almost too late, I realized that I was actually physically sick. I ran to the bathroom and barely made it in time to retch over and over again.

I flushed and then slumped down beside the toilet, my eyes watering and my head aching. After a few minutes, I stood and rinsed my mouth out, leaning heavily over the sink. I wiped my mouth with a towel and turned to see Ambrose standing in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his torn jeans.

"I can't even puke in peace now?" I asked wearily.

"I just wanted to see that you were ok. I waited until you were done puking."

"Thank you." I didn't even have the energy to sound sarcastic.

He studied me for a few minutes. "Are you good to keep talking to me?"

I shook my head. "Not tonight. I just need some sleep."

He offered me his hand, which I took after a moment of hesitation. He led me back to the bed I'd been sitting on and pulled the covers back for me.

Too tired to care, I stripped down in front of him until I was only wearing my panties and undershirt. I caught him watching intently, but he didn't say anything. I crawled into the bed and he covered me up, running his hands over my hip and back.

There was no way I'd ever sleep with him in the room. No way at all.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up from a surprisingly sound sleep to the room filled with the gray light of early morning. Rolling over, I was able to see that the other bed was mussed, but empty.

As my eyes adjusted, I could see Ambrose through the doors leading onto the small balcony. He was wearing only red plaid boxers, leaning on the rail with his back to me as he smoked a cigarette. I watched him for a few minutes. He seemed relaxed enough, although I heard him sigh and watched him run his free hand back through his hair more than once.

Finally, he stubbed his cigarette out on the railing, the muscles in his arm contracting just enough to remind me that I was in very real danger should he be lying to me about his intentions.

He started to turn to come back in, and I quickly rolled over to face away from him again. I didn't want to deal with him yet.

I wasn't going to be so lucky.

He paused by my bed, and I hoped he would continue on after satisfying himself that I was still asleep.

No dice.

The covers lifted and he crawled into the bed beside me, his skin cold as he pressed against me. I shivered and tried to move away, but he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer. He smelled like smoke.

His hand wrapped around me began lightly stroking my stomach, inching closer and closer to my panties. His other hand began running back through my hair, pulling it away from where it had pooled around my face.

I kept my eyes closed, praying that he would go away. Instead, I felt his lips press against my shoulder and down my arm before moving away and then reappearing on the back of my neck.

His hand slid part of the way into my panties and I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter.

Amazingly, he started laughing.

"You are a terrible actress," he said quietly, his voice low and gruff in my ear. "The only way that could have been worse was if you were fake snoring."

His hand slid back up to my stomach and I forced myself to relax.

We were both quiet for a few minutes, Ambrose's hand still lightly stroking my hair. "We need to get on the road soon," he finally said, leaning to kiss my neck again. "Unless you wanted to pretend to be asleep again, of course. Maybe we could do that. I'd like to see how far you'd let me take it before you stopped me."

"No, I think I'm good," I said quickly.

"Are you sure?" He asked, his hand creeping downward again. "I bet it wouldn't take me more than a few minutes to give you the closest thing there is to a religious experience."

"Too bad I'm an atheist," I lied.

His lips hit my neck again, opening a bit to gently suck on my skin. "I could still make you cry out for God," he murmured, pulling me even closer to him. Oh hell, I could feel how excited he was by _that_ idea.

I squirmed away from him. "I'll be in the shower," I answered, climbing out of the other side of the bed.

"Cold shower?" He asked. I didn't even turn around. I just shook my head and made my way into the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

We were on the road within an hour to head to our next city. Ambrose was driving. Reigns sat in the front, being taller than the rest of us. I shared the backseat with Rollins.

I wanted to ignore all of them and their chatter, so I pulled out the book I was working on at the time.

Rollins started laughing. "No shit? I love that series." I gave him a small smile, nodding. "I didn't really peg you for a fantasy novel kind of lady, though."

I could see Ambrose glancing back at us in the rearview, his expression unreadable. "Not many people do," I replied. "I'm actually pretty nerdy."

"That's awesome," Rollins said, nodding and smiling encouragingly at me. I managed to smile back.

"Seth," Dean interrupted, "did you say you knew a good gym around the arena?"

I returned to my book, glad to be excused from conversing, while the menfolk began their strategizing for the day and night ahead.

I didn't think much of it until we'd stopped to check into the hotel. Ambrose sent me to go check us in, which was a surprisingly quick process. When I came back, he had Rollins cornered and was speaking to him in a very low, very intense voice.

"Don't you ever talk to her like that again," I could hear him saying as I walked up, "with that goofy fucking smile and that supposedly-charming nerdy bullshit."

"Dude, I wasn't trying anything. I was just being nice."

"I'll rip your fucking arms off if you do it again."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one he threatens with that," I said, smiling bitterly as Ambrose's head whipped around. He looked positively murderous.

"And you shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Give me the room keys."

I handed them over, unsurprised when he grabbed my wrist with his free hand and began dragging me towards the elevator.

He was silent throughout the trip to our room, but I could feel the waves of anger rolling off of him.

I was incredibly tense by the time he unlocked the door and pushed me inside. I set my suitcase down slowly, feeling fear creep on me as he shut and locked the door, crossing the room in three bold strides to slide the curtains shut.

"Get undressed," he said, pulling at his belt. I simply stared at him for a few minutes, uncomprehending, while he slid his belt out of his jeans.

"Elizabeth," he snapped, "take your fucking clothes off."

I paused. "I don't want to, Dean."

"I don't care. Clothes off. All fours on the bed."

Having that odd underwater feeling again, I pulled my shirt over my head. I'd gotten halfway undressed before Ambrose became impatient.

"For fuck's sake," he snapped, walking towards me quickly. He began pulling at the clothing I had left, ripping one of the straps on my bra while he removed it.

When I was down to just my panties, he shoved me down face-first onto the bed. I saw his own t-shirt land on the floor beside the bed, and then…nothing happened.

I tried to not be afraid, but it was nearly impossible. He'd been almost playful this morning, and now he was obviously angry. I didn't know what was going to happen.

Very lightly, his hand rested on my ass. "Lizzy," he said, his voice incredibly controlled, "don't you ever speak to me like that in front of those men again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

He squeezed my ass. "It's nice of you to say, but I'm going to make sure you mean it."

I heard more than felt the first slap. Then as he pulled back, I could feel the sharp sting. It didn't feel like a hand slapping me. I twisted to glance over my shoulder and was able to see him pull the belt back over his head for another hit.

I cried out this time, more out of the injustice of being spanked with a belt than anything, I think. Ambrose grabbed the back of my head and shoved it into the mattress.

"Just take your lumps like a good girl," he said, hitting me again. "I'm not doing it that hard, and I'm holding the buckle so you're not getting hit with that. I'm actually being quite generous."

"Generous?" I spat. "You fucking psychopath, you're beating me with a belt!"

The next hit felt like I was being beaten with a whip made out of fire. I yelped in pain, and Ambrose shoved my face into the mattress again.

"Do you want me to hit you like that again?" He asked conversationally after a moment. "Is that your preference?"

"No," I replied, horrified to feel tears running down my cheeks.

"Are you going to stop talking back to me?"

"Yes."

He hit me three more times. I bit my lip to keep from yelling, but I was mad as hell about it. After a particularly vicious last strike, I tasted blood in my mouth. I had never hated him more than I did at that moment.

"Roll over, Lizzy," he said, his voice even. "Look at me."

Very slowly, feeling as if I'd run into a brick wall with my back, I rolled over, my arms crossed over my chest to cover my breasts.

Ambrose stood at the foot of the bed, shirtless, his jeans sliding down his hips without the assistance of his belt. As I watched, he very slowly threaded his belt back through the loops and fastened it.

"Do you know what I did that night you punched me?" He asked, staring down as he fastened the buckle.

"No," I replied.

He glanced up at me through the curtain of hair falling over his eyes. "Lose the tone. I just put this fucking thing back on. I will be very angry if I have to take it off again."

I nodded.

He climbed onto the bed beside me, lying on his side. His fingers lightly traced over my arms before gently tugging at my elbow to make me move them away from my breasts.

I rested my arms beside my body, feeling sick. His fingers lightly traced down over my breast, running around the nipple, before his whole hand simply engulfed it.

He breathed a little sigh of contentment. "Perfect fit," he said. "I thought it would be." He leaned over and kissed me on the temple.

"I'd had an idea that I'd be interested in getting you naked a few times before that night," he suddenly continued his previous line of thought. "It had started to come to me when I had you pinned against the wall with my hand around your throat. When that Irish moron came to your rescue, I had a huge hard-on. Something about the way you stared me right in the eyes while you were clawing at my hands. You weren't scared. You were pissed off, and I could see your hatred shining through your eyes. For some reason, it just turned me on." His hand squeezed my breast, his fingers moving to lightly pinch my nipple.

"I felt this need," he continued, "this primal, urgent need to just bury my dick in you as hard and as fast as I could. I wanted to see that light in your eyes extinguish while I fucked you, my hand still wrapped around your throat. I thought it'd probably be the best fuck of my life."


	5. Chapter 5

I tried to keep my face neutral. I could feel him staring at me, waiting for a reaction to the news that he wanted to, quite literally, fuck me to death. I had to withhold a nervous laugh at that thought.

"I started paying more attention after that. I wasn't sure if maybe I wanted to just fuck you and not kill you. I started watching you, trying to figure out if you might be the one bitch crazy and sick enough to make me happy.

"That night you clocked me, I'd never been happier. Or hornier. I went out with the boys and found a pretty thing that looked kind of like you, at least from a distance. She was an annoying cunt, actually, and didn't stop talking. But she had those long blonde curls that reminded me of you." He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair.

"I didn't even bother taking her to my hotel. I fucked her in the alley behind the bar. She wouldn't stop that fake moaning bullshit, telling me I was the biggest and best and all of those other stupid things sluts say when you fuck them. So I slammed her face into the brick wall of the building, covered her mouth, and fucked her from behind. The stupid bitch actually came that way. And not her fake 'oh my God, oh my God, I'm gonna explode!'" His imitation of a whiny girl voice was oddly eerie instead of funny. "No, this was an actual fucking explosion on my cock, her little pussy trembling while I kept pounding her."

"All the while, Lizzy, all I was thinking about was fucking you. I wouldn't have to slam your face into something to keep you quiet. I thought about how much you hated me and how defiant you would be. I'd have to rip the fucking orgasms from you. I'd have to be on top of my game with you.

"I kept fucking this stupid slut until she came again, but I knew she wasn't going to do it for me. Not after what had happened. I got off of her and told her to clean herself up and get the fuck away from me. I zipped my aching, throbbing dick back up and took myself home."

He was quiet for a few moments, his hand still lightly toying with my breast, teasing the nipple. He leaned in closer to me.

"Do you want to know what finally got me off that night?"

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. I wasn't sure I did. He pinched my nipple hard, and I gasped in pain. "Yes," I answered immediately. "Tell me."

His grip relaxed. "I was lying in bed, trying so hard to imagine what it'd be like when we finally fucked. My imagination, though, wasn't even getting the job done. So I grabbed my laptop with the intention of watching a little bit of adult entertainment. Instead, I found the video of you slapping and then punching me. I watched us, Lizzy. I watched the two of us in that ring over and over again, until I came like a fucking fountain. I legitimately felt bad for the hotel maid. I got fucking cum everywhere. I had to take a shower to clean everything off of myself."

I tried to keep my voice steady. "Why are you telling me this?"

He bent down and covered my nipple with his mouth, lightly sucking. I tried very hard to ignore the sudden rush of heat that ran through my body.

"I'm telling you this because I don't think I can be nice like I promised you last night," he said after a few moments, his fingers rubbing in the saliva he'd left on my nipple. "Even now, when I had you bent over, I wanted to rip your panties off and fuck you senseless. It's going to get to the point where I won't be able to stop myself."

He surprised me by moving very quickly, kneeling between my thighs before I could truly react. He bent and kissed me intensely, a moment I'd been dreading since the sweaty, disgusting kiss he'd planted on me in the ring the night before.

His tongue probed my mouth, his hands lightly gripping my breasts. I was surprised to note that he was actually a halfway-decent kisser when he wasn't covered in sweat and smugness.

His mouth wandered away down to my neck, then down to each nipple. I could feel myself getting turned on, to my great horror, and tried hard to think of anything but what was happening to me right now.

I succeeded for a few minutes, until I felt his hands begin to work my panties down my thighs. He pulled both of my legs up to his right shoulder and slid them off, tossing them aside.

I stared at him, trying desperately not to be afraid. His jeans were still on, I noted with a small amount of hope.

"Just relax," he said, smiling. "I said it was going to get to the point where I couldn't stop myself. That's not today. You took your punishment relatively well. You deserve a reward."

He slid himself down and his face disappeared between my thighs.

I immediately took back everything I had thought about him being a terrible kisser. The son of a bitch knew how to use his mouth.

I stared up at the ceiling, feeling myself getting wetter and more swollen with each pass of his tongue, and I hated him for it.

He pulled away and his fingers took up the work his mouth had been doing. "How does that feel, Lizzy?" He asked quietly. "I can feel your legs starting to shake. I think you're holding out on me."

"I've had better eighteen-year-old virgins," I snapped.

He laughed. "Are you sure about that?" He increased the pressure of his fingers and I nearly came off the bed. God, he was hitting me in just the right spot.

Suddenly, his tongue was back in the mix. He slid two fingers inside of me, and against my will, I had one of the best orgasms of my life. It was one of those hair tossing, sheet-ripping, toe-curling, body-trembling orgasms.

And I was pissed off about it.

He was laughing gently in between my thighs, his fingers still pumping in and out of me slowly. I braced my feet on his shoulders and kicked him away angrily.

"Be careful," he said. "All it's going to take is you slapping me and I'm going to be fucking you right now."

I closed my eyes and breathed through it. Getting angry would only make this situation worse. Ambrose loved that bitter, mean part of me and he wanted to show me that more than anything.

I put on my best sugary voice. "Well thank you. That felt great," I said, smiling at him.

An amused half-smile came on his face. "Oh, it was my pleasure, darling."

"I should go clean up." I sat up and kissed him square on the mouth before bounding out of the bed.

He laughed. "It's going to be a source of great amusement to me to see how long you can keep that hot temper of yours in check."

I turned and batted my eyelashes at him. "Temper? Me? No, Mr. Ambrose. You must be mistaken. I don't get angry."

With that incredible lie, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. I immediately went for the shower, feeling more disgusting than I had in a very long time.


	6. Chapter 6

That night was one of the most difficult ones by far.

I walked into the arena with a huge lump in my throat and Ambrose's arm securely around my waist. He deposited me in Heyman's office while he went to the locker room.

I actually looked longingly at the pile of reports. I'd give anything to be able to deal with scheduling or refs, or even read through another stupid contract. Absolutely anything.

Heyman must have seen the shape of my thoughts written on my face. He was smiling at me. "Miss it already, Liz?"

I forced a smile on my face. "Forced retirement? Not at all. I was just thinking about how happy I was to never have to touch a ratings report again."

"It evens out," he said, leaning back in his chair. "No ratings reports, but you do have to touch Mr. Ambrose when and how he wants you to do so."

I felt the smile drop off of my face. "Go fuck yourself, Heyman."

His grin grew wider. "Have I hit a nerve? How _is_ he in bed, Elizabeth? Have you found him to be a kind and generous lover? Or is he just as one would think – vicious and brutal?"

I stood up. "I have to take this shit from him, not you. I hope you fall flat on your fucking face tonight."

I didn't wait for a reply. I just walked out the door, desperately wanting to hit something.

I paced the arena for a short while, trying to find a place to pass the time undisturbed, before I was intercepted by Ambrose.

"Paul tells me you lost your temper with him," he said from behind me. I turned to see him looking amused.

"He expected me to kiss and tell. You're not supposed to treat a lady like that," I replied.

He snorted. "You're no lady, Lizzy."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. "You're right, Mr. Ambrose. Of course you're right." I paused. "What is it I can do for you, sir? A cup of coffee perhaps? A lighter for your cigarette?" I could feel my anger bubbling hard beneath the surface, and my voice raised a few octaves to match its fervor. "A pre-match blowjob? What, exactly, can I do for you?"

He leaned forward and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me to him. "You can lose the fucking attitude." He tugged upward on my hair and I closed my eyes to keep from crying out. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"One of these days, your mouth is going to get you into trouble that it won't be able to get you out of. Just some friendly advice from me to you. Shut up every now and again." He kissed me hard and finally let me go.

"We need to be in the ring in ten minutes. You're officially handing over control to Paul. It's a very special night for us, Lizzy. Don't fuck it up."

He stalked away without waiting for an answer.

I contemplated simply leaving. What, after all, could they do? Sue me for breach of contract? I'd be happy to pay whatever fine was laid out. It would get me out of spending the month with Ambrose.

And it would royally piss him off. Probably to the point of homicidal rage, in fact.

That wasn't a great option, then. I liked being alive.

If I continued the way I was going, I'd finally snap and be fucked day in and day out by Ambrose, who would eventually grow tired of conventional sex and find ways to really hurt me…or I'd give myself an aneurysm from being pissed off all the time.

Two additional outcomes that weren't entirely pleasant to consider.

I simply couldn't see a way out of this mess I'd made for myself. I never should have agreed to it. Giving up the GM position hurt, and it would have been bad enough – but I could have stomached it if that was the only stipulation.

My head still swirling, Ambrose came back and grabbed me roughly by the arm to drag me into the ring. As the music started to kick the show off, he handed me a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, hearing the melancholy in my own voice, "your new Raw General Manager…Paul Heyman."

I tried to hand the microphone back to Ambrose, but he refused it. They must have had a few other lines for me to spit out. I held onto it with an increasing sense of dread while Heyman made his way down, a self-important fat little man strutting with his chin out and a huge smile on his face.

He reached the ring and shook Dean's hand, then offered his to me. I merely stared at him for a few minutes, until Dean reached forward and tugged on my hair. I then shook briefly.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, for that lackluster and pathetic introduction."

"Perfectly fitting for a lackluster and pathetic man," I managed to reply, a smile briefly touching my lips.

Ambrose slapped me hard on the ass, hitting where the belt had earlier. I yelped in pain, squirming away from him.

"Did you two have a little too much fun earlier? Dean, don't be so rough with Ms. Moore." Heyman turned to grin at me. "Unless, of course, she likes it that way."

Dean's arm wrapped around my torso from behind. "She seems to love it," he said conversationally, kissing my neck as if we weren't in a ring surrounded by thousands of people.

"Ms. Moore!" Heyman replied, his voice full of mock surprise, his hand going to his chest like he was a ninety-year old Southern lady. "Well. I'm glad that you seem to have found your match in Mr. Ambrose. Truly, love at first strike."

I just shook my head slightly and stared into the corner of the ring. I needed to keep it together.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, squaring his shoulders. "I want to welcome you to the new era of WWE Monday Night Raw. Things are going to change, and only for the better. Your WWE Champion, CM Punk, will finally receive the respect he deserves from management. You will see more exciting matches, more title defenses, and more of me than ever before. You will love this new programming, I promise you."

He paused and glanced my way. "Isn't that right, Ms. Moore?"

My shoulders sunk a little bit. "Yes," I replied quickly, wanting to avoid another incident with Ambrose.

Heyman was focused on me now. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Will I be a better General Manager than you?"

This took me a minute. "I guess we'll see."

Heyman shook his head, disappointed. "Ms. Moore, did you ever really deserve this job? You didn't know what you were doing, did you? You ran this show like a complete and utter amateur. Not your fault, of course, because that's what you were. Don't you believe that these people will be better off with an experienced GM?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting back the urge to yell. Dean leaned forward and murmured in my ear – "You say what Paul wants to hear, or this afternoon will look like a cakewalk, Elizabeth. I have a whole _playground_ of things I'd like to use on you. Just give me a reason."

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, these people surely will be better off with an experienced GM."

A chorus of boos rang down on us from the crowd. I had to fight back a smile.

"Show a little respect for the opinion of Ms. Moore, ladies and gentleman," he said to the crowd. They only booed louder. "Ms. Moore is an intelligent and capable woman…at least _I_ believe so. Dean, have you found Ms. Moore to be capable?"

I glared at Heyman angrily, but he just smiled in return.

"More than capable," Ambrose replied, rubbing his hand through my hair. "Surprisingly enough, I've also found that Ms. Moore is not, as previously suspected, a filthy, lying whore. She looks very much the same without make-up on and – I can now confirm – is, in fact, a natural blonde."

"Genuine through-and-through, Mr. Ambrose? Lucky man."

I could feel the heat in my cheeks and I closed my eyes to keep from screaming. My temper was on the verge of exploding through me, and that would have been a very, very bad thing.

"Are we done here?" I asked instead.

Heyman shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "Young love. So eager to have a little privacy with your sweetheart. It's quite endearing." He stepped closer to me. "Show our young Mr. Ambrose a good time, Lizzy," he sneered. "Really give it your _all_," he said, pumping his hips obscenely.

I finally lost it.

I leapt at him, knocking him down. I managed to get off one good punch to the left side of his face before Ambrose yanked me off of him.

He held my arms behind my back, and I could feel more than hear him laughing. "That didn't take long, Lizzy," he said, planting a hard kiss on my cheek. "Not long at all."


	7. Chapter 7

Hello again, faithful readers!

Can I just say, you guys totally rock? I've really appreciated all of the reviews, favorites, and messages. I've posted the next bit under the title "Fucking a Loaded Gun."

I will say, it's a bit of a transition story. Please stick with it, even if it doesn't seem like it's the same Dean Ambrose you've come to fear and loathe. Trust me on this, he's still a malevolent bastard. :)

I hope you enjoy!


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